


Open Up

by Skasis



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Cuddling, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Smut, sassy karen, tumble prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skasis/pseuds/Skasis
Summary: A prompt fill from Tumblr. The prompt was "Open Up."An injured Frank stumbles through Karen's window, rather unexpectedly, one evening, followed shortly by the police.ORKaren gets commanded to "open up" three times in one night--and only one of them does she really enjoy.





	Open Up

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for an anon on Tumblr. The prompt was "open up." I completely did not realize until I was halfway done writing this one-shot that the prompt was under the "smut" category. So...I had to go back and write smut, lol.

Prompt 185: “Open up.”

1 AM on a Friday night, and Karen was deep in a dream chamber, passed out diagonally across her bed still wearing her work clothes. It had been a rough week—with Ellison out of town “visiting a sick uncle” (a not-so-secret code phrase meaning he was staying with his “secret” girlfriend in upstate New York), Karen had been assigned to cover many of _his_ duties, as well as her own. Which meant working her usual beat, as well as editing some of the work turned in by junior reporters (many of whom did not seem to know the difference between _there_ , _they’re_ , and _their_ ). She’d spent most of the day guzzling cups of crappy, break room coffee and trying not to take out her frustrations on the NYU intern. It had been fucking exhausting. Almost the moment she’d caught sight of her bed after work, she’d lost herself to unconsciousness.

And it was pleasant—the kind of deep, dark sleep that feels like it may be infinite. The kind where you wake up the next morning barely knowing your own name—confused and untethered and truly rested. The second Karen’s head had hit the pillow, she was gone—utterly lost to the world.

Until a sharp little tapping noise jolted her from her sleep.

“What the—” Karen was awake in an instant, bolt upright, heart pounding. She was a light sleeper—had learned from growing up with an older brother fond of nighttime pranks how to be alert at a moment’s notice. It took a few second for her head to clear; for the fog of sleep to lift, and for her to zero in on what, exactly had woken her so unceremoniously. It was a harsh and insistent rapping at her window pane.

Karen pressed a steadying hand to her chest, willing her heart beat to slow, and turned her head. It was too dark to make out much, but as Karen’s eyes adjusted, she caught sight of a large, shadowy figure sitting on her fire escape, pressed right up to her window. Human-shaped.

“What the fuck?!” Karen’s heart stuttered in her chest, adrenaline flooding her veins in an instant. She scrambled from her bed quickly, falling to the floor and pressing herself flat against the rug, out of view of the window. Someone showing up on her fire escape in the middle of the night was never a good thing. People with respectable intentions used the front fucking door; people who wanted to murder you in your sleep used the window. Karen cursed herself—her gun was in the night stand on the other side of the bed—out of reach. In order to get to it, she’d have to pass by the window. Where the fuck was Frank when she needed him?

“Karen—please. **_Open up_**. It’s me.”

Oh. That’s where he was.

“Frank?” She popped her head up over the edge of the bed, eyes wide. What was he doing on her fire escape at 1 AM? Last she’d heard, he was on Punisher duty tonight, and she _never_ saw him on Punisher nights. He’d made it very clear, since the beginning of their relationship, that he wanted to keep the vigilante part of his life separate from the Karen part of his life. Or, at least, he wanted to _try_. With Karen’s propensity for getting involved in the kind of trouble way above her pay grade, they hadn’t had much luck. But still, he always tried to keep the two parts of his life separate. Sometimes, though—tonight included, it seemed—he just couldn’t.

“Yeah, it’s me. Open the window, sweetheart. Quick.”

Even through the pane of glass separating them, Karen picked up on the strain in his voice. The tight undercurrent of pain.

He was hurt.

“Okay, sorry, sorry.” She tripped as she stood up, and remembered she was still wearing four inch heels. “I’m coming.” She kicked her shoes off quickly, not caring where they landed, and was at her window in seconds.

“Fuck.” Frank collapsed inside the moment he could squeeze through, falling to the floor with a thud. The groan he made was concerning, and Karen dropped to her knees, reaching out blindly to touch him wherever she could.

“Are you hurt? Are you bleeding? What’s going on? What happened? Do you need a towel or an ice pack or—,” she was grasping desperately at his arms, her hands coming away sticky and wet. A bad sign.

“Shhh, shhhh.” Frank slipped into his comforting voice, grabbing ahold of Karen’s searching hands, stilling them against his chest. “It’s just a surface wound, I’m fine—I’m fine. But you need to be quiet, Kare. Had police on my tail. Could be here any minute.”

“Police?”

“Chased me from the Garment District. Two cops—ditched their car when I started climbing fences and followed me on foot.”

“The Garment District?” Karen’s fingers were twisting into the front of his shirt. “What were you doing there?”

“Shh shh,” he squeezed her hands soothingly. “I’ll explain later. Just gotta keep quiet for a bit, okay?”

He was barely finished speaking before Karen heard the sound of heavy, purposeful knocking down the hallway, followed by the exclamation of “NYPD, **_open up_**!” It wasn’t at her door, which was a small blessing, but it sounded like the cops were at Mr. Harrison’s, two doors down. Probably canvassing the building.

“Fuck—Frank, what do I do?” Karen stared down at her hands, knowing they were covered in blood, but unable to confirm visually. All she could see were dark splotches spread across her palms. She figured it probably wasn’t in her best interest to turn on the overhead light and draw attention to her little apartment.

“Just—just stay calm. If they knock on your door—” Frank grunted as he lifted himself to his feet, stumbling toward the bathroom, “just tell them you were asleep. Can’t come in without a warrant.”

“Okay, okay.” Karen nodded to herself, before standing to follow Frank. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re listing to one side pretty badly.”

“No, I’m—I’m fine.” Frank paused, breathing deeply, before turning to drop a kiss to Karen’s forehead—a reassuring gesture. “Just a scrape.”

She didn’t believe him—not for one second. But she’d dealt with enough of Frank’s “scrapes” to know that there was nothing she could do. The man was stubborn as hell when it came to taking care of himself. But she knew, deep down, that if  he were really in danger—injured beyond the pale—he’d tell her.

She watched him for a moment, then decided his limp wasn’t as pronounced as she’d first thought. Probably a sprained ankle if she had to guess.

“Okay. A ‘scrape.’ Whatever you say.” The skepticism was heavy in her voice. “First aid kit’s under the sink. Same place it was last time you got your ass kicked.”

“Hey,” Frank leaned heavily against the doorframe of the bathroom. “I did not get my ass kicked.”

“Yeah, well the blood on my hands says otherwise.” Karen folded her arms across her chest, and the moonlight was just bright enough for Frank to see the move. He wanted to laugh—it was classic Karen.

“You should see the other guy.”

“If he’s still alive, right?”

“Damn straight.”

Karen was about to respond with something snappy, but the pounding on her door cut her off.

“NYPD— ** _open up_**!”

Taking a deep breath, Karen waited until Frank was in the bathroom, with the door closed safely behind him, before making her way to undo the latch at the front door. She grabbed a robe from the laundry bin on the way, wrapping it around herself and shoving her bloody hands in her pockets. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do.

“Hello?” She tried to make her voice sound as groggy and confused as possible as she peeked through the crack in the door. Two uniformed police officers stared back at her, flash lights mounted on their shoulders. She squinted against the bright beams directed at her face.

“Hello ma’am. Sorry to disturb you,” the younger one spoke, looking genuinely regretful for the inconvenience. Kid didn’t look a day over 22, Karen thought. “We’re chasing down an armed criminal who was last seen climbing the fire escape of this building. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious in the last twenty or so minutes? Maybe outside your window?”

“Uh...” Karen tried to ham up the ‘barely-awake’ act, blinking blearily for emphasis. (She almost brought her hands up to rub at her eyes, but caught herself just in time). “No, sorry officers. I’ve been asleep.”

“Are you sure?” The older, more grizzled of the two spoke up, craning his head and clearly trying to see behind her into the darkened apartment, “Do you live alone? Nobody else in the place we could talk to?”

“No I—” Karen managed a realistic yawn, and silently thanked her 7th grade drama teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, for showing her that little trick. “I live alone, I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, then the sound of something clattering to the ground in the background. Karen froze, recognizing the noise as coming from the bathroom. She forced herself to visibly relax, as though nothing were out of the ordinary, as she saw both officers place hands on their side pieces.

“Ma’am, what was that?” The younger officer took a step forward, ready to shove her door open and force his way in if need be.

Karen had to think fast.

“Probably my cat, officer.” She hoped that they couldn’t hear the staccato rhythm of her heart beating in her throat, and desperately shot for casual with the tone of her voice. “Little Willie. She’s always knocking things off of my dresser. Why? It illegal to own a cat in this neighborhood?” She put a little sass in her inflection.

“No ma’am.”

Both officers removed their hands from their weapons, visibly relaxing.

“If you hear anything—or see anything—please call 911.” The older cop spoke. “The man we are looking for is armed and highly dangerous.” _Not to me_ , Karen though to herself. “Even if you aren’t sure—anything that looks suspicious, you need to call us, okay?”

“Yes. Yeah.” Karen nodded, yawning again. “Is that all, officers?”

There was a pause, in which both cops stared at her as though trying to read into her stance—her demeanor. It was quiet. Then the tension broke; she’d been deemed trustworthy.

“Yes ma’am, that’s all.” The younger cop spoke, nodding. “Thanks for you cooperation, and sorry to wake you up.”

“No problem.” Karen was itching to close her door and see what was going on with Frank, but knew that she couldn’t let her haste come across, lest she look suspicious.

“Well,” the older cop rocked back on his heels. “Good night, ma’am.”

“Yeah, good night.”

She waited until they had turned to the apartment across the hall before closing her door. She stood, for just a moment, breathing deeply and letting the adrenaline subside, before quietly tip-toeing her way to the bathroom.

“Frank?” She whispered, opening the door slowly, so as not to startle him. “They’re gone. We’re clear.”

Frank hadn’t switched on the overhead bulb, instead opting for the small night-light Karen had mounted in the outlet, which bathed the bathroom in a pale, blueish glow. It took Karen’s eyes a moment to adjust before she could understand what she was seeing: Frank, teeth gritted and shirtless, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, attempting to stitch up a bullet graze in his bicep using her very rudimentary first aid kit.

“Jesus, Frank. Let me do that for you.” Her voice came out little more than a murmur—the cops weren’t too far away, after all.  She stepped over his discarded shirt and fell to her knees in front of him, reaching out to grab the needle and thread from his hands.

“I got it.” Frank grunted quietly, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Clearly you don’t.” Karen scoffed. “That’s some sloppy-ass stitch work. Gonna leave a big scar.”

“Oh no,” Frank deadpanned. “Not a scar.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re a big strong man with a million battle souvenirs.” Karen rolled her eyes with a smile. “I get it. But it’s going to take longer to heal with that messy work.”

“You can do better?”

“Can I?” Karen leaned back on her heels, letting her eyes rake over his body, covered in bruises and blood. “I’ll have you know that I earned my first aid merit badge from Buffalo Bayou Boy Scout camp faster than anyone else, _specifically_ because of my stitch work. I patched up at _least_ fifteen wounded oranges to earn that badge.”

“You were a boy scout?” Frank gave up, dropping the needle and letting it dangle from the thread embedded in his arm. Karen picked it up carefully—gently.

“We haven’t talk about this before?” She used her free hand to pinch together Frank’s skin, closing the flesh around the wound. He winced, but gave her a reassuring smile when she looked up in concern.

“Nope. Don’t think you mentioned being a Boy Scout. I’d remember that.”

“Huh,” Karen frowned. “So I never told you how I annoyed the scout masters into letting me tag along on all the camping trips with my brother? I even stowed away once—spent a whole four hours in the trunk of my dad’s car so that I could go on cavalcade. Eventually, they made me an honorary scout.”

“That explains so much about you.” Frank hissed through gritted teeth as Karen began to sew his wound together. She was much more delicate—more patient—than he was; and the stitching was clean.

“What? You mean it explains how I’m always doing my best to do my duty to God and my country and obey the Scout Law? How I’m always helping other people at all times; keeping myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight?” She rattled off the scout law as though it were second nature, and Frank found himself struggling to stifle a laugh.

“I was going to say how you’re always bullying people to get your way, but yeah. That too.” Frank shook his head.

“I did not _bully_ anyone. I said _annoy_. I _annoyed_ the scout masters to get my way.” Karen corrected, tutting as she finished up the last of her stitching.

“Oh, I’m sorry. _Annoy_ is much better.” Frank bit back a smile.

“It is.” Karen reached into her first aid kit and rummaged around until she found a pair of scissors, cutting the excess thread from his stitches. “Now,” she leaned back with a huff. “You gonna tell me what else is hurting, or am I going to have to frisk you?”

Frank gave up hiding his smile. “No ma’am.” He shook his head. “That was the only wound needed attention.” He shifted on the edge of the tub. “Got a shallow cut on my side from a machete, major bruising on my ribs, a sprained ankle, and a shit ton of minor scrapes and cuts. But other than that I’m fine. Promise.”

Karen eyed him skeptically, lips pursed. She leaned forward, placing an arm on either side of him on the edge of the tub.

“You lying to me, Castle? I’ll know if you are.” She squinted in his face, her eyes serious. Frank probably shouldn’t have found it as adorable as he did. His Karen—never afraid to call him out on anything.

“No ma’am. Wouldn’t lie to you.” He raised a brow. And he seemed sincere. (Karen could always tell when Frank was bullshitting her—trying to downplay his injuries—as the right corner of his mouth dipped in just the slightest. It was a dead giveaway).

“Okay. Fine.” She nodded. “Now you wanna tell me how you got those wounds?”

Frank sighed, reaching out to run both his hands through Karen’s hair. He cupped her cheeks, tilting her head up toward his own.

“You know those Banucci goons you wrote about the other day? The ones running the prostitution ring in Koreatown?”

Karen nodded, Frank’s calloused hands warm on her cheeks.

“Tracked them down to a hideout in the Garment District. They weren’t too happy to see me. Managed to persuade one of them to give up the name of the guy in charge before shit when sideways.”

“Persuade?” Karen repeated, tilting her head to nuzzle her cheek into one of his palms.

“Persuade,” Frank repeated, nodding. Code word for ‘torture,’ obviously. “Until one of ‘em started shooting.”

“But I can safely assume they’re all dead now, right?”

Frank paused.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Karen rose on her knees slowly, eyes locked to Frank’s. “I’m glad.”  And she was—she’d been tracking the Banucci gang for months; had uncovered the horrifying truth that they’d been involved in human trafficking and selling under-aged girls for years. The police, of course, had turned a blind eye; Frederico Banucci lined enough pockets in the NYPD to get a free pass for anything he chose to do with his goons. Karen had long ago hardened her heart to the reality that some men—some truly evil men—deserved to die without a trial.

Frank looked at her for a moment—his fierce, righteous Karen. In the soft glow of the night-light, her pupils were blown wide, and the blue of her iris was luminous. She looked almost like an angel with her golden hair backlit softly; like more than he deserved. Her breath hitched slightly, as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Frank’s with all the tenderness in the world.

It was a gentle kiss. An “I’m glad you’re safe; always come back to me” kiss. And it set his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Going out on his nightly runs as The Punisher felt different now that he had someone to come back to. Someone to check in with; to eat take-out and watching crappy horror movies on Saturday nights with; to tend his wounds and kiss away the dark corners of his mind. It made him feel a little more complete—a little more Frank Castle and a little less The Punisher.

His hands traveled down from her cheeks, fingers ghosting over her neck and scraping down her shoulder blades, before making their way to the small of her back. He tugged her forward, gently, until she fell against his chest completely. She made a little noise of protest, afraid of hurting him, but Frank just squeezed her closer, letting his tongue dip into her mouth and taste her sweet and fresh on his tongue.

“Mmm, Frank.” Karen pulled back slightly. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“No.” Frank shook his head, yanking her back in. “Worth it.”

And his lips were on hers again—warm and strong and claiming. Kissing her like it was the only thing in the world to do. There were desperate little noises clawing their way up Karen’s throat, as the kiss deepened—teeth clashing and tongues sliding.

“Wait wait wait.” Karen pulled back again, and Frank had to fight down a frustrated groan. “Is it seriously fucked up to be making out right now? You are literally still bleeding from a showdown with mafia pimps.”

“Kare.” Frank shook his head, rubbing his thumbs back and forth along the small of her back. “If we weren’t allowed to make out every time I killed a bad guy, we’d never get to touch each other.”

“Hmm,” Karen tilted her head to the side, thinking it over. “Fair point.”

“Yeah. So let me kiss you, huh?” He leaned forward, chasing her lips.

“Hold on,” she shook her head, breaking away from his grasp to stand up. “Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes first. I can smell the blood on your pants.”

“Alright.” He rose with a groan, his back popping in protest. Karen cringed.

“Sounds bad, old man.” She turned to open the cabinet above the toilet, where she kept extra t-shirts and boxers for Frank. Mostly clothes he’d left behind, which she had laundered fresh for all the times he decided to stay over unprepared.

“Who you callin’ old man?” He grumbled, toeing off his boots, caked as they were with mud and blood.

“ _You_ , old man.” She leaned down to pick them up, setting them in the sink, where she would rinse them later. Glancing up in the mirror, she saw Frank slip off his pants and boxers, wincing at the pain in his side as he did. She bit her lip, trying not to stare. Even bloodied and bruised, naked Frank was a hell of a sight.

“Yeah, well,” He pulled on the boxers Karen handed him—the ones with little skulls that she thought were just hilarious. “Let me take you to bed and we’ll see who you’re calling old man.” He reached out to grab Karen around the waist, but she danced out of his grip.

“Ah ah ah,” she pinned him with a serious look. “Don’t you think you’re a little too banged up to make good on that promise, Frank?”

He stood, staring at her for a moment, that predator’s look in his eye, stepping forward with purpose. Before she quite realized what was happening, he’d bent down, his arm around the backs of her thighs, and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. (It had hurt like hell, but Frank decided it was well worth it, with the way Karen gasped, letting out a little yelp at being suddenly upside-down).

“Frank!” She whisper-yelled, smacking his ass gently. “Put me down! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Nope.” He shook his head, walking down the hallway to her bedroom, a man on a mission.

“If you pop your stitches trying to be a big, strong caveman, I’m going to kick your ass.” Karen tried for annoyed, but her voice lacked conviction.

“I’ll risk it.” He shifted, and suddenly Karen was being deposited, as gently as Frank was capable of, on her bed. She bounced a little as her back hit the mattress, and it took a moment for her head to reorient to no longer being upside down.

“Okay,” Karen shook her head. “You’ve proven how tough and totally-not-hurt you are. You win.”

When she looked up, Frank was staring at her, arms crossed, a grin on his face. And there was that softness in his eyes—that tender look that made Karen melt. Made her feel like a rare and precious thing.

Frank felt his fingers itching to touch her. The moonlight filtering through the bedroom window cast her with a gentle flush, and she looked so damn beautiful—long, pale legs; rosy lips; wide eyes, the kindest shade of blue. His gaze trailed down her body and he noticed, for the first time, what she was wearing. “You fall asleep straight from work?”

“Huh?” Karen’s brain was slow to play catch-up with Frank’s train of thought. “Oh,” she looked down at her pencil skirt and blouse. “Yeah.”

“Rough day?” He stepped forward, placing one knee on the mattress, bending down (despite the protest in his side) and placing a hand next to Karen’s hip.

“You have no idea.” She bit her lip, watching the way his gaze traveled the length of her, devouring.

“Hmm,” he grunted, bringing his other hand up to slowly begin unbuttoning her blouse. “See if we can make it better, huh?” His grin was just a touch devilish as he began leisurely popping her buttons, one-by-one, as though he had all the time in the world. The backs of his fingers trailed over silky smooth flesh as he went, and Karen found herself shivering at the touch.

Frank dipped his head, laying a kiss on her bare sternum, the stubble from his unshaven chin scratching at the swell of her breasts. She loved when he didn’t shave every day, letting his five o’clock shadow grow out. The best was when he left it alone all week long, then let Karen shave him over the weekend, sitting on the bathroom floor and tilting his head back over the tub while she carefully dragged the razor across his jaw.

 _God_ , she adored that jaw. The one currently rubbing its way across the cup of her bra as he dragged his teeth across her sternum.

“Frank,” she breathed, arching up, as his hand dipped lower, unfastening the last of her buttons, pulling the tails of her shirt from her skirt.

He climbed further onto the bed, planting both hands on either side of Karen’s head, fingers tangling gently in the hair that spread around her like a halo. They stared at each other for a moment, breathless in anticipation, before Frank ducked his head down to nuzzle at her cleavage. With his nose, he nudged aside one of the cups of her bra, exposing her breast to the cool air. Licking his lips, he watched her nipple pucker and tighten before him.

“Jesus, Frank.” Karen spoke his name again, and he flicked his eyes up to hers for just a second, before closing his mouth around her nipple.

She jolted at the feeling—warm and wet—as his lips wrapped around her bud, his tongue coming out to flick at her gently. Arching up, she brought a hand down to tangle in his hair, pressing his face against her in a bid to get him closer. He complied, letting the tip of his tongue circle her over and over, before sucking gently, eliciting a moan.

“Felling any better, Kare?” Frank pulled back briefly, blowing a stream of cold air across her nipple—wet with his saliva. Karen hissed, and he grinned.

“Oh,” her voice was breathless, and she used the hand buried in his hair to yank him toward her slightly. “Just a little.” Her lips crooked in a mischievous smirk.

“Just a little, huh?” Frank repeated, shaking his head before leaning forward to lave his tongue across her again. The little noise of approval she made was lovely.

Karen brought down the hand not grasping at Frank’s hair, using it slide behind her back and unhook her bra, letting it fall from her chest. Frank lifted his head enough so she could shrug out of her shirt, tossing it, and her bra, into a far corner of the room. He stared down at her—ethereal and delicate in the sparse light dancing through the curtains—and felt how intensely lucky he was to be with her at that moment. How beautiful life could be, allowing him to find her—to rest in her presence—after all the terrible things he had done.

Karen reached out, eyes soft, and threaded both of her hands through his hair, guiding his head down to her own. Her lips were tender and sweet, and kissing her felt a bit like taking Holy Communion.  Like worship in the only way he knew how. Slowly, he tore his mouth from hers, letting it drag down her throat, then her chest, leaving a wet trail in its wake. He let the knee resting on the mattress slide down, until he was kneeling on the floor, his lips playing at Karen’s stomach.

“Love this skirt,” he mumbled against her skin, reaching behind her to slowly slide the zipper down.

“I do too. So be careful with it.” Karen rose up on her elbows to shoot him a look. He’d torn too many of her favorite items of clothing (mostly dresses and panties and bras) for her to pass up on the warning.

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded with a wicked grin, before tucking his fingers into the band of her panties and dragging both pieces of fabric down her legs.

And she was bare before him—long, lovely legs and a pink blush working its way up her stomach. It was charming, Frank thought, that after how many times they had done this, Karen still had the capacity to blush. It wasn’t out of embarrassment, she’d explained to Frank one night, but because she hadn’t realized how much she liked being _looked at_ until it was Frank doing the looking. Like a selective exhibitionist, she became a live wire only under _his_ gaze.

“Jesus, Kare.” Frank’s large, warm palms glided their way up her legs, callouses catching on smooth skin, until they were resting at the luscious swell of her hips. “So beautiful.” He dipped his head, placing a kiss right above the thatch of hair between her thighs. His thumbs began to rub back and forth across her hip bones. Karen squirmed at the contact.

Frank nipped at the skin below her belly button, then leaned back on his heels. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled forward until her back was on the mattress, but her feet were resting on the floor. She made a surprised little noise, but didn’t lift her head.

“Sweetheart.” Frank slid his hands down from her hips, tickling her thighs as he went, before resting them on her knees. He gave a little squeeze. “ ** _Open up_**.” Karen’s body went magnificently limp in his grasp, and he gently pried her legs apart, exposing her completely before him. She was slick and pink, glistening in the dim light through the window. And perfect—always perfect, Frank thought.

He stared at her for too long, apparently, and Karen bucked her hips up impatiently, stretching her arms high above her head.

“Okay, I see ya.” Frank glanced up at Karen, waiting for her to tilt her chin down and make eye contact, before lowering his mouth to her slit. Slowly—with the intent to tease—he let his tongue drag up her folds, pulling away before he could reach her clit.

“Frank.” His name left her lips like a plea, and she circled her hips upward in an attempt to chase his mouth.

“Shh, I got ya.”

He blew across her wet core softly, until she shivered, then his mouth was on her again. Ravaging this time—open-mouthed kisses, flicking tongue. Like he was trying to devour her in one go.

“Fuck!” Karen’s exclamation was half-yell, half-whisper, and the heady feeling of pleasure shot to the base of her skull. Frank was so good at this—so fucking good at this. He ate her like he was trying to rip her apart, fingernails digging into her ass, hands tilting her hips upward for a better angle, stubble dragging across her inner thighs. When he was between her legs, the entire world slipped away into nothing, and all she could do was hold on to the electric buzz building in her gut.

Frank lifted Karen’s hips, and suddenly her legs were slung over his shoulders. With this new position, she was able to dig her heels into Frank’s back, pushing him closer—closer—for just that much more friction. The sound of his mouth on her—wet and sloppy and perfect—was almost obscene in the quiet bedroom. And it had Karen’s pleasure spiking to new heights; aural stimulation always seemed to do it for her—the slick little noises of sex so erotic to her ears. She brought her hands down to once again tangle in Frank’s hair, fingernails scratching along his scalp. He shivered at the sensation.

“Frank, I need—” Karen’s words were cut off by a gasp, as he let his tongue flick out to circle her clit. It was _exactly_ what she needed. The man was a mind reader.

Slowly—then quickly—he let his tongue skim across her clit, licking with the broad flat of his tongue every once in a while, just to keep things interesting. He brought one hand from where it was holding onto her ass, and wedged it between his chest and the mattress. While Karen was gyrating her hips, pressing herself into his mouth, he let one, long finger enter her. Slowly.

She let out a whine—a soft little noise—as he began to crook his finger, hitting that spot behind her clit that felt like fire.

“Oh god. Yes. Keep going—keep—” she gasped as he added a second finger. Pressing into her—insistently now. Making her see stars.

The combination of his tongue at her clit and his finger tapping her g-spot was deadly. And she knew it wouldn’t be long before she was falling over the edge; could already feel the buildup of her release pulling tight the muscles in her back.

She didn’t realize how desperately her heels were digging into Frank’s back, or how rough her thrusts were, as she tried to ride his face faster. But Frank didn’t mind; he enjoyed it—feeling used by Karen. Knowing that she was near-mindless with pleasure, because of _him_. He grinned as he felt her walls begin to flutter gently; she was close.

And he began sucking—roughly, quickly—at her clit, knowing that it was a move guaranteed to send her flying. With a crook of the finger, and a flick of the tongue, she was gone.

Back arching impossibly high, head thrashing from side to side, and his name on her lips, like a whimper. She flew—in that way only Frank was capable of sending her careening out. Her legs were shaking on either side of his head as she came down, breathing heavily, sated.

He continued to lick her gently for a few moments, drinking in her release, until she made a small noise that let him know she was too sensitive to continue. Sitting back on his heels, he admired his handiwork—Karen looked completely wrecked.

“You—” she spoke up, panting. “You gonna come cuddle me or what?”

Frank chuckled. “Couldn’t keep me away.”

He helped Karen, who was feeling a little limp, shift her way back up the bed until her head was resting on a pillow. She rolled to her side and reached behind her in indication that Frank should spoon her. As soon as he did—warm chest pressed against her back, breath hot on her neck—she felt the hard length of him jutting into her ass.

“Mmm,” she let her hips roll gently back. “You want me to do something about that?”

Frank pulled her closer, stilling her movements and trapping her against his chest.

“No.” He shook his head. “Wanted to take care of you tonight.”

“Hmm,” Karen nodded, snuggling against him. “There’s always tomorrow though, right? You still up for Chinese and a movie? Or do you have to follow up on the Banucci info?”

“No. That can wait.” Frank dipped his head to nuzzle at the junction between her neck and shoulder. “I think I need to lay low here for a while until I can be sure police aren’t watching your building.” Karen made an understanding noise—she’d almost forgotten about the whole reason he’d shown up at her apartment in the first place. “Plus, Saturdays are for you.”

“Damn right they are.”

“Damn right they are,” Frank repeated, closing his eyes. He was at peace—despite everything else outside of her apartment being a total mess, he was at peace.


End file.
